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The oaks outside my window frame Shift gently in the breeze Like they’re waving good morning To the hopeless romantic with torn jeans
Can it be explained? Or must it be felt? In simple words, polluted by frequent emptiness, Can the darkness be described? Should it? The longer it stays caged within the walls of my mind,
Fire burns all that touch Leaving scars to those who are foolish It cooks our meat, our food Giving nutrition to further life It rages with fuel And dwindles when smothered Spreading with just a spark Burning forests and killing life It brings war
am I proud of who I've become or do I disappoint my past self the one I shelved, the stone I sanded down
I want a refund Is this what growing up looks like? Chasing last week and another robot sex club
heart of a hot glue gun scalding, sticky in the shape of a weapon used by tortured artists
Lately, everything feels a little more impossible unstoppable, improbable, those dream bubbles?
Decisions shape and change the way we grow, But are the decisions we make truly ours? Perhaps we are controlled by something greater than us. Perhaps a construct such as morality,
I often find myself wondering, If there is something more out there, For me, For us, But then I remember, That we all die,
I went to a musical, Heathers It was reccomended for sixteen year olds And up, and I'm only thirteen It was my only chance, though, Mum knew that. Heathers has some 'heavy themes' so there were
I was in the school library at lunchtime Looking at a book entitled ‘When A Friend Dies’. I felt guilty, because I wasn’t grieving at all I just felt really sad.
Is that all there is? If so, what am I to do? Answer me, STUPID!
The dark night of my soul Please save me If it takes hold I don't know which way is home I'm lost and it's oh so cold I hate how I'm so alone
Sometimes it seems like the small flicker of a life Is so unimportant when you look into the sky. When Orion is smiling at you And Venus is glowing like a junebug in a summer night Do you ask yourself why?
I am disguised words. Hidden among pages and blue screens, My voice is fragile cords. My existence is far from keen. Like a dulled edge, Mind wandering, I can't seem to leave an etch.